Shadows
by WindowChild
Summary: Young Luke, sitting in his closet and hiding from his mother.


"When I used to hide in the closet so she wouldn't find me with those… those glowing eyes." – _The Last Olympian_, pg. 224

Luke gave a fearful sigh, hugging his knobby knees against his chest. He was safe, for the moment. She was busy, searching for him upstairs, and it could be hours before she thought to look for him there. Good.

He relaxed, but only for an instant. The door was open, a crack. It wouldn't close. Panic set in on Luke again, as his mind raced. If the door was opened, she might get ideas… she might find him sooner, and then… He shuddered, trying to block out those thoughts. Maybe, just for tonight, she wouldn't find him.

He pressed his bare feet against the door, and when that didn't seem to work, he stacked a few hatboxes there too. They shut the door all the way, at least. Okay. He was okay, now. Hopefully for a little longer, he would be fine.

A quick glance to the ceiling sent his nerves reeling again. He knew what he was, sort of. Did that mean he should pray? Would it help, maybe? Would they protect him? And his mom… he added, because he felt like he should. After all, she sometimes could get hurt too, if the attack was really bad. She would break things, sometimes, and the glass would cut her skin. During those kinds of fits, Luke would run and hide behind the neighbors' house. He would get yelled at, if they saw him, but it was better than sticking around. Once in a while he wondered why he came back at all.

An hour or two passed, and Luke wasn't sure what to think. Should he be relieved or worried? Was the attack over, or was she still up there, eyes ablaze? He locked his sweaty fingers around his legs, pulling his shirt over his knees. He would spend the night there, in the closet, and go find her in the morning. If he could figure out when that was, of course.

Listening closely, he thought he could make out footsteps. Good then, she was… conscious. She nearly always was, but it was still another thing that concerned him. One time, she had hit her head and passed out for thirteen hours. Luke was four.

It was getting colder. Smellier too, and scarier. It was nighttime, Luke guessed. He really had no idea, but that's what it felt like. His hairs stood on end, nervously detecting every sound and movement. There were insects underneath him, he guessed. He could feel them scurrying, returning to their homes inside the walls. That was just fine, then. Even the bugs got to go back to bed, and he had to stay in the closet all night. All because his father wasn't coming. He was never coming. He was not going to save Luke, like Luke had always dreamed he might. Fine then.

Tentatively, he pulled the light string above his head. Enough time had passed that he figured it wouldn't matter. The light was dim, but it was just enough for him to make out various shapes. The hatboxes, pressed against the wall. The coats, lined up to perfection, as if they were a normal family. He pulled one down, the soft fur bringing him much needed comfort. He put it around him, and took another to cover his lap with. He was all set then, if he had to stay there for a while.

But wait… what about food? Even as the word entered his mind, he felt his stomach twist uncomfortably. He hadn't eaten since breakfast, and that had only been toast. He would need more, at some point. He would have to leave eventually.

He bit his lip, forcing back thoughts of the leftover cobbler in the fridge. His friend's mom had given it to him, when he'd left from his house the other day. She was nice, Luke thought wistfully. She had been normal, cooking and working and loving like any good parent. His mom loved him, he realized with disappointment, that was a large portion of the problem.

He thought of other things then, like love. Wasn't it supposed to be great? He'd heard a couple of stories, about kids whose parents didn't love them. His mom loved him, but that didn't solve anything. What about his dad? Did he love him? Luke didn't know, and wasn't sure which answer would make him happy. If he did love Luke, then that meant he was just as bad as May. His love didn't fix anything; it didn't make him want to help. And if he didn't… well, Luke was still on his own.

He turned his head around, trying to think of ways to entertain himself. His eyes fell on his clenched hands, and realized delightedly what he could do. Shadow puppets!

He pulled up his hands, making bunny ears like he'd been taught. He practiced at it, putting them in the exact right spot on the wall. They made creatures, that way. Bunnies, little boys…

Excitedly, Luke shifted positions and began his show. The first one was predictable. It was always the first daydream to enter Luke's mind. His dad came, you see. And he set May right, and then the three of them lived together. The last scene was of Luke starting fourth grade, with his mom _and_ his dad taking him to the school building.

He sighed, the painful sting of reality setting in. Fourth grade was soon… Too soon, and there was so little chance that things would work themselves out by then.

Luke shut his eyes, changing the script to his little play. It was different, this time. His parents were nowhere to be found, and neither was anyone else from his current life. He was the leader now, of anything and everything he wanted to be. His finger straightened, pretending to hold its "head" high. Everything would be the way he wanted it, now. Even without his parents, he could still get his perfect fantasy.

A moment passed, and then something changed in Luke. Maybe it was the bugs or the cold or his growling stomach, but something unfamiliar was itching at him, grabbing him. Pretending wasn't going to be enough anymore. It was going to be too painful, and he wasn't going to be able to stand it.

Because it didn't matter. He could stay in the closet as long as he wanted; she would still find him. And even if she didn't, it would happen again. Her eyes would glow and her mind would fail her, and Luke would be forced to hide _again_. It would never stop. So he had to face it. He had to face the fact that things weren't changing, and he had to leave it behind. He had to abandon his mother and his dreams and his stupid, little shadows. He had to run.

With another sigh, a braver one than before, he stood. No more fantasies, now. This would be the real world. This would be the beginning.

A/N: I just want to say that the book _The Rules of Survival_ helped me write this. Has anyone read it? Well, it's very good, and while it has absolutely nothing to do with PJO, it helped to inspire me. Thanks for reading everyone, please review!


End file.
